Broken
by purpledementia
Summary: Because he was a broken man. And she deserved so much better than him. AU; rated T for language & violence.
1. Prologue

**Broken.  
><strong>**Prologue.**

The rain fell heavily around him, and wisps of blond hair clung to his forehead as he ripped his helmet off.

An eerie silence descended over the battlefield, a stark contrast to the deafening roar of battle that had raged just moments earlier.

The remains of his unit were littered across the small clearing, their broken bodies still and unmoving. They had been overwhelmed by a meticulously planned ambush, their enemy as unexpected as they had been unprepared. Still, they had given as good as they got, but by some cruel twist of fate, he was the sole survivor.

Sole survivor.

A sense of betrayal and dread washed over him as the gravity of these words slowly dawned upon him.

Him. The newest and most inexperienced member of their small patrol. He didn't _deserve_ to live. If anyone, it should be Zack-

Zack. He had to find Zack. Give him a proper burial, if nothing else.

He lifted his head wearily and scanned his surroundings with lifeless eyes.

Nothing. He had almost given up hope when the slightest of movements caught his attention, at the periphery of his vision. And he was halfway across, slipping and sliding across the thick mud, his own carbine lying forgotten on the sodden ground.

He had hoped beyond hope, but he knew immediately that Zack wouldn't last the night as he stumbled to his side. A long and vicious slash ran across his chest, carving his insides open. It was a miracle he had survived as long as he did.

'Zack!' he rasped, his throat dry.

The SOLDIER stirred, shifting uncomfortably beneath the weight of his now useless armour.

'Zack!' he repeated, his voice breaking.

'..You..'

The life was already leaving his eyes as Zack made a futile attempt to sit up, coughing up a mouthful of blood.

His eyes widened in surprise as Zack grabbed a soaked tuft of hair and pulled him down.

'..I'm..not g-going to m-make it..' he whispered weakly.

'..T-take my sword..and finish him. For..for honour. And..tell her..t-that-'

'I will,' he promised, voice hoarse from the strain.

'..T-thank you.'

He pulled himself up, with no small amount of protest from his body, from the limp form of his friend, his best friend, and stood, an unfathomable rage boiling up within him.

There, his adversary stood, on the crest of a small rise, back turned, brazenly, as if mocking him. The moon cast an unearthly glow over his silhouette, and the rain gave his silver hair a shimmering, ghostly quality that defied description.

He crawled over, the rain stinging his eyes and face, to where Zack's massive sword lay and heaved it up, staggering under the weight of the blade. It was too large and too heavy for him, but by some unknown source of strength he managed as he broke into a run across the scarred ground and up the gentle slope, charging towards his hated enemy.

'SEPHIROTH!' he roared as he swung the broadsword with all the force he could muster.

The vaunted general whirled around in a flash, bringing his impossibly long katana up in a block, and he found himself falling backwards under the weight of the blow.

Moonlight glinted off Sephiroth's blade as it sliced through the pouring rain in lightning strikes, and he struggled to defend himself with Zack's unwieldy weapon.

It was all over before he could react, as the tip of Sephiroth's sword slid into his chest.

'..Foolish child. What could a mere infantryman hope to accomplish against me?'

Gritting his teeth in despair and frustration, he did his best to ignore the searing pain as he advanced along the length of the blade, inch by excruciating inch.

He could not fail in this. He _would __not _fail.

Succeed, or die trying. Zack had taught him that much, at least.

'..Die..' he whispered.

A look of surprise and disbelief crossed Sephiroth's face as he stabbed his own blade into his adversary's abdomen.

'..You..you..' Sephiroth managed, as he staggered back.

The last thing he heard was Sephiroth's laughter, cold, bitter and full of hate, as he fell into an eternal darkness.

_I did it, Zack._

_I wonder..if she..would be proud of me._

**A/N: **Obligatory disclaimer that I do not own the characters of Final Fantasy VII. All rights belong to Square Enix. I've actually written the next chapter already but need to do some minor editing before I upload it. Reviews please?


	2. One

**Broken.  
><strong>**One.**

He sat perfectly still, in the plush leather seat, as he gazed out the window. Midgar was already coming into view, the evening sun glinting off the impressive skyscrapers as the train rumbled steadily towards its destination.

The raucous singing of soldiers, undoubtedly drunk, from the bar two cars down drifted into his carriage, completely empty save for one other occupant across the aisle. He shot a wary glance at his traveling companion, a redhead slouched over his seat in a rumpled white shirt undone at the collar, deep in blissful slumber. Earphones snaked up from his cellphone, blaring indescribably bad music at an uncomfortably loud volume.

The door to the car burst open at this very moment, and four men staggered, rather noisily, into the tastefully furnished carriage. Infantry, he observed from the distinctive blue of their uniforms, and obviously intoxicated, as evidenced from their unsteady gait and the unmistakable reek of alcohol.

'Say..what do we have here, boys?' one of them, a sergeant, judging from his stripes, slurred.

He said nothing and turned to look out the window once again.

'Two civilians, travelling in luxury while the rest of us soldiers are packed in the back like livestock. And this one here..' the officer spat, before continuing, 'is too high and mighty to even look at us.'

A discoloured gob of phlegm smacked into the cool glass of the window, much too close for his liking, and began its slow slide down.

'Leave,' he said blandly.

The sergeant's eyes narrowed.

'Oh? And if we refuse? What're you going to do about it?'

'Then I'll just have to make you, won't I?'

The four men broke into uncontrollable laughter, clutching their sides and gasping for air.

'Did..did you hear that, Sergeant? This..this _civilian_ actually thinks he can _make__us__leave_!' one of the privates wheezed.

He looked on in distaste and a mild air of disinterest before speaking as the unwelcome intruders gradually collected themselves.

'Well, why don't you find out?', he replied levelly, already feeling the familiar rush of power coursing through his veins. He was, in all honestly, spoiling for a fight, with all the pent-up anger and frustration accumulated over the past few weeks threatening to spill over.

'Alright boys, why don't we teach this pansy a lesson in manners? Try not to break too many of his bones.'

'Run along now to your mothers now, ladies. We don't want anyone getting hurt now, do we?' a lazy voice interjected, punctuated with a long yawn.

'Reno, how nice to have you back in the world of the living,' he said, half-mockingly.

Reno ignored him and stretched, working the kinks out of his lanky frame as a metallic rod slid out of a sleeve and into his waiting hand. It hummed to life dangerously as the redhead flicked a stray strand of hair out of his eyes.

It was comical how quickly the sergeant's cocky grin disappeared off his face.

'That's..that's a Turk, Sergeant,' one of the privates whispered nervously, referring to the colloquial term for a member of the Department of Administrative Research.

'I know, now keep quiet,' the sergeant hissed before turning back to Reno and plastering a thoroughly fake smile across his lopsided features.

'No sir. Just a bit of friendly banter, sir. We'll be off now,' the officer replied venomously, before marching through the aisle to the next carriage, his men trudging along behind him with the beaten air of chastised children.

Satisfied, Reno replaced his weapon and settled back into his seat with an exaggerated sigh of contentment.

'..I was perfectly capable of handling that,' he said, somewhat disappointed that his sport had been spoiled.

Reno shot him a sidelong glance.

'I wasn't helping you, you know. They looked friendly enough and it just wouldn't do if you sent them all to the morgue,' the Turk drawled.

'Besides,' Reno said, pausing to light a cigarette, 'the boss told me to keep you out of trouble.'.

A thin trail of smoke curled upwards as Reno exhaled.

'Here. Want one?' the redhead offered.

He ignored him.

Reno shrugged.

'Fine, have it your way.'

* * *

><p>They arrived soon after that, the green of the pastures gradually giving way to the concrete and steel of Midgar as the troop train ground to a halt in the city of dreams.<p>

Midgar. Home. _His_ home.

The concept felt alien to him as he contemplated it in his seat, unwilling to jostle with the rest of the soldiers who were disembarking. He had left Midgar as a bright-eyed, idealistic 17 year old for the jungles of Wutai, sure of himself as all youths were and determined to make his mark on the world. For four long years he had struggled to survive in a nation that had tried its hardest to kill him and now, the prodigal son had returned, disillusioned and jaded in every sense of the word.

A brief thought crossed his mind that Midgar was also where _she_was, but he banished it as quickly as it had come.

He would have much preferred it if he had left his old, pre-war life entirely behind, a pristine visage filled only with happy memories. Coming back to it as he was now, the city would only be a constant reminder of how much he had changed, and lost, while away. As the circumstances would have it, however, he had nowhere else to go, and thus, he had found himself back in Midgar, whether he liked it or not.

Besides, he told himself, this is a city of 7 million people. He had no intention of ever seeing her again, and the chance that she would find him, even if she had known of his imminent return, was practically zero.

At least, that was what he hoped.

'Come on, let's go. The boss is waiting for you,' Reno interrupted, for once a not unwelcome intrusion.

He retrieved his duffle from the overhead compartment and slung it easily over his shoulder. It contained all of his worldly possessions, nothing spectacular; a few changes of clothes, and a tattered package, smeared with dirt and sweat and..blood.

No, he wouldn't think of it now.

He would deal with it later, when the time came.

The steel of his combat boots thudded dully against the steps as he descended towards the platform, and he drew the leather of his collar in closer as the night chill hit him.

The platform was a bustle of activity, packed with conductors and supervisors and the recently disembarked troops as they all pushed and shoved and shouted over the din to make themselves heard.

He frowned slightly. After all this time, he had grown unaccustomed to crowds, and struggled to suppress the rising nausea of claustrophobia that welled up within him. He was thankful, on this occasion at least, for Reno who, despite his shabby sense of dress, looked the part of a Turk and was accorded all the perks that came along with the job, getting them through the pulsating mass of people with relative ease.

The expansive concourse was no less busy, filled with the joyous, tear-stained reunions of mothers and sons, of husband and wife, and sweethearts. He spotted his welcome committee almost immediately though, standing in a inconspicuous corner. Their sharp, black suits stood out like a sore thumb amidst the civilians who dressed mainly in various garish tones.

'Tseng,' Reno called out with a cheery wave as they approached the group, before pushing his way outside, presumably for another smoke.

A slim man, his black hair pulled back into an elegant ponytail, shot a brief glance of disapproval at Reno's rapidly disappearing back before turning back to address him.

He gave Tseng a slight nod of respect and acknowledgement. This was, after all, the person responsible for extricating him from an extremely undesirable and delicate situation that had developed only a few days prior.

The blonde, slender woman flanking Tseng on the right shifted uncomfortably he drew closer, no doubt for easier access to her sidearm if trouble should occur. He didn't blame her. No doubt he had garnered a nasty and not entirely undeserved reputation for being a troublemaker.

'Stand down, Rude, Elena. I would like to speak with him in private for a moment.'

'But..boss-'

'I said privately, Elena,' Tseng interrupted sternly.

'Yes, sir,' Elena conceded, with no small amount of reluctance, before following Rude, an exceedingly well-built man with eyes hidden behind shades even in this time of the day, out of the entrance.

Tseng waited until his escorts were out of earshot before turning to his guest.

'Good evening, Captain. I trust there was no trouble on the journey here?'

'I'm not with the army anymore,' he replied, his face expressionless.

'A term of convenience. Forgive me.'

There was a brief pause as Tseng surveyed their surroundings before discreetly handing him a small slip of paper.

'An apartment in the city has been arranged for you. I am also aware of your..condition..'

He felt an uncomfortable twinge in his left arm, as if in reminder.

'..but I cannot help you openly. There is an old acquaintance of yours, however, who may be able to assist you. I trust you remember Cid?'

'Cid Highwind?'

'Yes. He knows people who may be able to help with..unofficial business.'

'Why are you helping me?' he demanded. 'Surely, you've had your orders.'

Tseng paused for a moment, and a rare flicker of emotion crossed his usually taciturn features.

'For an old friend. We may be Turks, but we're also human,' Tseng said quietly.

He fell silent, suddenly finding himself at a loss for words before Tseng spoke again.

'Well then, I have important business to attend to and must leave. Stay out of trouble, and good luck, Cloud.'.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**I actually had this written when I submitted the prologue but took my time to edit and amend this one. Just couldn't resist throwing in a bit of suspense by not revealing who _he_ was right until the end, but I'm sure many of you guessed. I mean, who else could it be? Once again, reviews please. Constructive criticism would be good.

**Irish-Brigid;**Thank you for pointing that out. That was actually an oversight on my part, but yeah I do write like that sometimes and I always have loads to delete when checking stuff over. It's a bad habit of mine that school does nothing to correct.


	3. Two

**Broken.  
>Two.<strong>

The dim light from street lamps out on the main road flickered ominously as he picked his way through the trash littering the narrow alleyway, stopping before a door cut into the side of the building.

It was a fairly nondescript door, its green paint chipped and worn from the elements.

Squinting up against the light rain, Cloud checked off mentally against the address Tseng had given him before stepping up and rapping lightly against the metal, just to be sure. It was a fairly unpleasant neighbourhood, that much was obvious, and he didn't want any trouble.

Not that he wasn't confident of handling it, but he was weary from travelling the entire day.

'Coming!' a cheery voice called out from within, and he was slightly startled.

He hadn't expected _him_, of all people, to be living with a woman, and Cloud was sure he had gotten the place right.

The door creaked open, held in place by a door chain, and a bespectacled woman, her brunette hair falling messily across her face, peered out warily.

'Yes?'

'Good evening ma'am. I'm looking for Cid Highwind.'

'Oh.. I'm sorry, but Cid is.. busy at the moment.'

'It's an old friend, miss. I'm sure he wouldn't mind,' Cloud said quietly.

'Well.. hold on a moment then, I'll get him for you.'

He could hear grumbling from within the building as someone, presumably Cid, stomped towards him.

'Who the hell are you..' Cid growled, before his eyes widened in recognition at the shadowy figure standing before him and he tried to slam the door shut.

To his complete and utter surprise, it didn't budge an inch. He looked down to see Cloud's glistening boot wedged securely between the frame and the door.

'What the fuck do you want?'

'I need your help.'

Cid barked out in laughter, the short, rasping sound ringing out around the alley, before fixing his stony gaze on Cloud again.

'I don't recall you ever needing my, or anyone else's, help.'

'I need it now.'

Cid frowned as he pondered what to do with his unwelcome guest.

'I don't suppose you'll just leave quietly, will you?'

'No.'

'Come in then,' Cid said gruffly, before opening the door reluctantly and stepping aside to let Cloud in.

He led Cloud through a cramped corridor and into the dining room, plopping himself down into one of the straight-backed chairs.

'Shera! Where the hell are you? Get Cloud here some damn tea, will you?' he yelled out.

'Com.. coming!'

As if on cue, the woman from earlier on scurried in, holding two mugs of steaming drinks. She placed them clumsily on the table before offering Cloud a polite smile.

'Here, I'll take your jacket for you..'

'It's fine, miss, I'll keep it on.'

'Oh.. uhm.. Cid.. if there's n-nothing else..' she stammered, looking down at the cracked parcquet.

Cid shooed her out of the room before glaring across the table at Cloud.

'Tell me what the hell you want and leave,' he said, the hostility evident in his voice.

'I need mako.'

Cid snorted.

'If you need materia go look for Shinra and his damn lackeys.'

'I need mako, not materia.'

Two moths flitted about the single uncovered bulb in the room as the two men stared at each other, one in shock, and the other in quiet confidence.

Cid looked away and took a sip of piping hot tea.

'That stuff is illegal, Cloud, what makes you think I can get it for you?' he laughed nervously.

'Tseng,' Cloud stated levelly.

Cid started before taking another sip of his tea.

'I don't like being threatened.'

'I wasn't threatening you. The Turks know about your little operation.'

'And they'll shut me down if I don't give you what you want?'

Cloud said nothing, the rainwater sliding smoothly down his leather jacket and onto the grimy floor.

Cid laughed again, a genuine, booming laughter that reverberated around the small room.

'You bastard. You're the last person I expected to have the Turks on your side, especially with your _dishonourable discharge_,' he sneered.

A tense silence followed as Cloud looked coolly back at Cid, his face expressionless. Cid was the first to crack as he looked away angrily.

'Tell me what you need it for and I might be able to help you.'

Cloud stood wordlessly and removed his jacket.

'..Son..son of a bitch..' Cid breathed.

A soiled bandage was wrapped tightly around Cloud's exposed left bicep, the white gauze stained black. The dressing came off entirely as Cloud gave it a firm tug on the end.

'..Geostigma..' Cid whispered, fear and disgust creeping into his voice as he left his chair involuntarily and took a step back.

There was a small wound on Cloud's arm, but it looked to be an old one, and should have healed a long time ago. A viscous, unnatural dark fluid oozed slowly out of the scab, discoloring the surrounding skin.

Cid had heard the stories, of course, but it still came as a shock as he witnessed it first-hand.

Cloud felt an unwelcome twinge in his left arm as he watched Cid avert his gaze and shift uncomfortably.

'..H..here. Tell them I sent you,' Cid stammered, unable to keep the pity from his voice. He tossed a worn card across the table, seemingly afraid to touch Cloud.

'Thank you,' Cloud said quietly, before dressing quickly and turning to leave through the door.

* * *

><p>Cid sat there, at the table, and was unable to keep his hand from shaking as he struggled to light a cigarette.<p>

**A/N: **Finally up. Sorry for my long absence, though judging from the reviews I highly doubt anyone has missed me. Would be nice if someone proves me wrong though. Some explanation here; got a new laptop, and been very, very busy with school. Exams are coming up as well (in a week's time) and damn it, Diablo is out in 3 days time. Will try my best to update though. Just a word; a shorter chapter than usual, though I quite enjoyed writing this one because it was fun trying to capture all of the emotion within it. Hope I managed to achieve the satisfactory level of tension that I feel this chapter needs. Comments, anyone?

**Irish-Brigid; **Thanks for the review again. I actually meant for that to happen because I'm such a stickler for mystery and even though it was fairly obvious who 'he' was I just couldn't resist. Another bad habit of mine, I know.


	4. Three

**Broken.  
>Three.<strong>

He stood before the massive oak doors of the abandoned church, doubt lacing his thoughts.

It was more difficult than he thought it would be, coming here, and he subconsciously tightened his grip on the package he held, as if for courage.

_I can't do this._

But he had promised, his last words to a dying man, and that was what had kept him going, the one reason that had him struggle through four years of the never-ending nightmare that was Wutai.

He couldn't go back on that.

Steeling himself, he pressed the palm of his glove on the rotten wood and slipped inside.

* * *

><p>It was as if he had entered into another time, another place, as he stood there intently just inside the door and listened to the sounds of traffic outside fade away.<p>

Sunlight streamed through the broken rafters, catching tiny specks of dust that swirled lazily in fascinating, miniscule galaxies. The floorboards had been torn up in the center, where the altar had been, and a large patch of grass had flourished. A slender woman, dressed in various shades of pink, was kneeling by the vegetation, back to him as she tended to the brilliantly yellow flowers that had sprung up amongst the grass.

Pink and yellow on green.

A picture of serenity in the madness of his world.

He ghosted noiselessly through the ruined pews and stopped a few paces behind the girl.

She was still unaware of his presence, humming a tune softly as she worked and a slight breeze blew a few wisps of brunette hair out of the loose braid she wore.

'..Aeris.'

She jumped a little in shock, whirling around to face her unexpected guest and clasping a hand to her breast. He was a SOLDIER, she saw immediately, from the way he stood and the cold, hard lines around his mouth. And, of course, the unnaturally bright, mako infused eyes that were tell-tale signs of Shinra's special forces.

Just like..

'I'm sorry,' she laughed a little. 'You scared me there.'

He said nothing.

'..Well? Can I help you with something..?' she asked uncertainly, a sudden fear and unease gripping her heart.

Wordlessly, he held the small package out to her.

She reached out slowly and took it from his gloved fingers, unable to keep her hand from quivering slightly.

'..He's..he's gone..isn't he?' she whispered.

He didn't say anything.

He didn't need to.

She fumbled with the frayed, red ribbon holding the package together, numb fingers scrabbling at the stubborn knot, before finally getting it undone and spilling the contents onto the cool floor.

Letters.

Letters that smelled of gunpowder and sweat and the rich, earthy smell of Wutai together with just the faintest hint of blood.

The smell of death and love and heartbreak.

She turned away from him then, her shoulders shaking as wrenching sobs escaped from her pale lips.

It was the hardest thing he had ever watched.

* * *

><p>Sometime later, when the crying had gradually died down, he found himself sitting opposite her, him with his back against the side of a destroyed pew, and her facing him, hugging her knees to her chest.<p>

'..Thank you..' she began softly, voice slightly hoarse.

He looked up at her, eyes questioning.

'For bringing these to me, I mean. I'll treasure them.'

'..I'm..sorry.. I couldn't..bring him back,' he said, looking away, throat dry.

'Don't be. It isn't your fault..' she replied, quietly.

'I.. I think..I always knew he wasn't coming back. I..felt it, sort of, when he left.'

And so they sat in companionable silence, uninterrupted save for the calming rustle of grass and faint, distant sounds of the outside world.

He watched as she reached for the letters, smoothing the creased and battered paper over her lap and began to read.

He wasn't surprised to see silent tears sliding down her pale cheeks, where they ended up as dark splotches on the cheap stationery they had to make do with on duty.

He was surprised, however, when she broke into a soft giggle, looking up at him with a barely contained twinkle in her green eyes.

'You must be Cloud. He mentioned you, you know. Called you a Chocobo head, amongst other things. Mostly good. I'm sure I can see the resemblance.'

Cloud found a smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite the melancholic mood. Zack had, indeed, found more ways than one to keep things interesting, even in the middle of a war.

'He always was such a happy person..' she choked, trailing off as the tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

'..He loved you, Aeris. To the very end. He never forgot you,' he said suddenly.

'..I know. I've missed him..' she murmured, giving him a small, half-smile through her long lashes, still glistening with tears.

She took a moment to draw in a deep breath, before continuing.

'Thanks. I'm all better now. Zack.. he wouldn't have wanted us to remember him like this..'

_No, he wouldn't_.

But he shoved the thought into the back of his head just as quickly as it had come.

What was done was done.

There was nothing he could do to change that now.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Can't believe I managed to put out another chapter in the middle of my papers. Must be looking for just about any reason I can come up with to put off studying. Just some character development in this chapter, and hopefully you people will keep reading because (I promise) that the really good parts are coming soon.

Just a quick note on the last chapter. I was reading through it again to check for mistakes and I realise I might have written Cid as being too much of a wimp. Without spoiling too much, let's just say that that definitely isn't the case. I'm still undecided as to his exact role in the plot, but in the previous update he was meant to be a kind of foil to Cloud that shows just how _terrifying_ Cloud's supposed to be. Not sure if I managed to capture that kind of feeling though, so comments, anyone?

On a completely unrelated note, Diablo is damn addictive and I'm probably going to fail my papers.

**Irish-Brigid; **Yeah it's weird how your head can be _bursting_ with ideas on how to develop the story but when it comes to actually writing it you take ages to get anything done. Or that's how it is for me, at least.


	5. Four

**Broken.  
>Four.<strong>

He watched as the cold water swirled in a dizzying eddy around his toes, before disappearing down the drain.

It was easier than he thought, adapting to civilian life again here in Midgar. A comfortable routine had developed, one he adhered to as rigidly as the regimented life he had endured back in the chaos of Wutai. He would wake early and go for a morning jog along the deserted streets, more out of habit than out of any pressing need to keep in shape.

He _was_ mako-enhanced, after all, he thought bitterly.

Then he would come back to his empty apartment for a nice, long shower.

He liked taking showers.

It afforded him the time to think, which was ironic given that he didn't really have much to do. He wasn't eligible for a pension because of his discharge from the army, but he still had enough of his pay left that he probably wouldn't have to worry about money for the rest of his life.

Dangerous work paid well.

And, within the confines of that tiny cubicle, where no one could see or hear him, he could let his mind wander.

Sometimes, he even allowed himself to think of _her_.

It always made him feel guilty afterwards, when he stepped out dripping, especially because he still avoided a particular part of town like the plague. A part of him wanted to see her, smell her, _feel_ her, while the other sneered that he didn't have the _right_. It was a constant battle within him, one where voices shouted and shouted until they grew to a deafening roar that threatened to drown out the outside world.

That was why he liked his showers.

He had found that the constant splash of water, strangely calming, was the only thing which could silence the ghosts in his mind.

Closing his eyes, he tilted his head up against the frigid stream, letting the water plaster his hair against his forehead. It was easy to imagine the clear liquid running down his cheeks, his jaw, his shoulders, and across the angry, festering wound on his arm before sliding off him with the faintest trace of black.

Suppressing a sigh, he shut off the water and grabbed a towel before drying himself off, inspecting himself in the mirror through sodden bangs.

It wasn't a pretty sight.

Scars criss-crossed his chest and abdomen in a grotesque pattern, and he could still remember how and where he had gotten each and every one of them. This one, where he had been nicked by a spear in a well-planned Wutai assault, and here, where he had been grazed by more than a few bullets storming a machine gun nest, and a mass of smaller wounds where he had been peppered by shrapnel following a grenade blast.

And of course, his hand touching it lightly, the terrible scar on his chest where Sephiroth had run him through.

He could still feel it some days, even now, or perhaps it was just his imagination when it throbbed with a dull, heavy ache.

Giving his unruly hair one final, determined wipe, he turned and left the bathroom, pulling a wool turtleneck over his head. It was time to head to the church.

* * *

><p>It was dark when he left the church, the streetlamps casting a dull, yellow glow over the cracked pavement. A few stragglers wandered the dimly lit sidewalks, heads bowed and eyes hidden.<p>

In the month since he had returned to Midgar, he had come to the church almost daily. He had told himself that he was merely taking care of Zack's girl, but the truth of the matter was that she was taking care of him rather than the other way round.

He would never admit it to anyone else, and only grudgingly to himself, but he enjoyed the _company_. It was strange, this feeling of companionship, since he had lived most of his life in solitude, depending on himself and himself only.

Sure, there was Zack, but Zack was..gone, and he had long since learned then never to make lasting attachments to the others in his unit. The dangerous work they did ensured that friendship and camaraderie were ultimately pointless.

Some sort of understanding had developed between him and Aeris. They would sit, for hours at a time, and he would listen while she chattered along about..interesting things while she tended to the flowers absent-mindedly. And, on the days where the feelings of grief threatened to overwhelm her, he would be there for her, waiting patiently for the tears to dry up.

One talker and one listener. Two hearts connected by the common memory of a certain dark-haired SOLDIER.

His thoughts was briefly interrupted when he caught a flicker of a shadow out the corner of his eye. He was being followed, and had been for a few blocks now. Cursing under his breath at his own inattentiveness, his hand shot up instinctively to the back of his head, where the hilt of his sword would have been, and found only thin air. He shook his head at himself mentally; he was a civilian now, and civilians weren't allowed to walk around in broad daylight carrying weapons.

Continuing at a steady place, his mind raced as he evaluated the circumstances. There was one, perhaps more, tail on him, and he wasn't being a very good one. He couldn't see very well without turning his head, a situation exacerbated by the inadequate lighting. Probably a petty robber after cash, he decided. Nothing he couldn't handle, but he preferred not to make a scene out by the main road.

His eyes roamed the streets as he searched for a suitable place to – _there_, that would do nicely.

Turning quickly into a narrow alley, he pressed his back against the crumbling brick wall and waited, his lean body tight and coiled, ready to strike.

As expected, his shadow rounded the corner, bumbling right into Cloud's trap, except that-

His gloved fist hovered uncertainly, stopped in mid-air as sky-blue eyes widened in recognition.

Except that he _knew_ this man.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Surprise! This update is probably a bit earlier from what you guys are used to since I always take so damn long to upload a new chapter. Got a couple of story alerts after the last post so I'm kinda happy that people are _actually_ reading my stuff. Anyway, I really liked this chapter so I hope you guys do as well. Once again, I'm going to beg really shamelessly for reviews (thanks **Irish-Brigid**) because these are what make my day.

**Irish-Brigid;**You're right about this of course. Unfortunately I was feeling lazy and couldn't think of any better dialogue so I just decided to cut some corners on this one. Usually I dislike using such clichés in my writing but it seems that it was kinda unavoidable in this case. Will probably rewrite that tiny part once I have a better idea but as of now, no luck.

One of the harder things I'm trying to do here is avoid portraying Cloud as some sort of self-pitying idiot (emo, as some would say) because this wasn't the way he was in canon. He was a smarmy, cocky bastard in most of the game and it was only because of AC that people seem to think he's a pathetic loser. Anyway, that side of Cloud has been overdone to bits by most writers anyway so I'm trying to stay true to the original personality that Cloud has though it's _very_ difficult considering that I'm doing a tragedy here and sometimes it just seems unavoidable. Hm.


	6. Five

**Broken.  
>Five.<strong>

A sharp crack echoed around the narrow alley as the hard plastic of a prosthetic limb connected with Cloud's jaw, sending him stumbling backwards. His assailant didn't stop there, and a flurry of blows knocked the remaining wind out of him.

'Fight back, damn you, why the hell won't you fight back?'

He spat out a mouthful of crimson blood, sprawled in a particularly foul-smelling puddle of water, before looking up at the very large and very, very angry black man towering above him.

'Hello to you too, Barret.'

Barret responded by grabbing a fistful of leather, hauling the shorter man bodily up to his feet before slamming him into a brick wall, sending bits of mortar and loose stone raining down on them.

'I couldn't believe my eyes when I thought I saw you on the streets, but you..you still have the bloody _nerve_ to show up back here?' Barret panted.

Cloud said nothing, his sapphire eyes empty and devoid of all emotion as he looked down at the furious man.

'Three years.._three_ years _and not a bloody letter or call_. I didn't like you back then and _goddamn_, was I _right_!' he seethed.

'Do you have _any_ idea.._any_ idea, what you've done to her, you heartless son of a bitch?'

A barely perceptible tremor spread through Cloud's body, his mind momentarily blanking out at the implication of Barret's words while the man raged on, his anger unabated. Cloud opened and closed his mouth several times, as if to say something but then thinking better of it.

'I..how is she?' he finally asked, his voice quiet.

'..ing..what?'

'I asked..if she's doing well,' Cloud repeated, his breath fogging into tiny droplets that dissipated into the air almost as quickly as they had formed.

Barret exploded again.

'Of course she's _not_ doing bloody well. She's been worried sick, and she ain't the same person she used to be no more, you bastard!'

'..I'm sorry.'

'You better damn well be, asshole. Listen to me; don't you _dare_ appear before her _ever_ again, you hear? Leave her alone; she'll be better off without the likes of you around,'

Somehow, Cloud couldn't help but agree with him.

'..Don't worry. I won't,' Cloud told no one in particular while wiping away a sliver of blood trickling down from his thin lips.

* * *

><p>Barret was still swearing, mentally, by the time he made it back to Seventh Heaven. Shoving the wooden saloon doors open with much more force than he had originally intended, he stomped angrily into the long empty bar and strode straight to his usual seat. A stray fly buzzed noisily around the rotating blades of the ceiling fan, while a slim brunette stood behind the counter, wiping down the scratched surface with a stained rag.<p>

Raven hair cascaded in a rippling waterfall of dark silk, framing her delicate features perfectly. She was, admittedly, good-looking, though the gaunt, slightly sunken cheeks and barely concealed shadows under her curiously wine-hued eyes betrayed the fact that she had, once upon a time, been prettier still. Shooting her one last, concerned look, Barret sighed softly before setting himself down on the high stool and pouring himself a stiff drink.

He had never understood what it was that she saw in Cloud, and probably never would. A faint memory of him asking her that question surfaced in his mind, and he grimaced inwardly.

'_What is it about that boy that you like so much?' he asked suddenly, trying his damnedest to keep the disapproval from his gruff voice and failing miserably._

_She almost dropped the mug she was cleaning and blushed furiously, much like any other adolescent girl in her situation._

'_I..well..I don't really know..I..just do..I guess?' she stumbled, the tiniest of smiles tugging unconsciously at the corner of her full lips and slightest hint of pink dusting her cheeks._

_And, the faraway look in her eyes.._

That was the problem. It always was. The look in her eyes; she loved too deeply and she loved forever. He had tolerated the younger man back then because, even despite his personal dislike of Cloud, she had, crucially, been happy with him. Now, he brought her nothing but pain and suffering and Barret could honestly say that he hated him now. He would never forget the stricken look on her face, that day, in front of the battered laptop that they all shared.

_Goddamn irresponsible prick._

Her life or not, he wasn't going to allow Cloud anywhere near her ever again, not if he could help it. Time would heal all wounds, he decided, and it was about time she started to live again. Besides, even from his brief altercation with Cloud earlier, he could tell that this wasn't the same man who had left for the war four years prior. If possible, he liked this new Cloud even less than the old one. He couldn't quite place his finger on it, but what he had seen..scared him.

_Me? Frightened? Of him? Ha, I'll show the-_

'What's wrong?' the brunette asked suddenly, not looking up from her current task.

Startled, Barret jumped a little in his seat, sloshing the amber liquid in his glass, before answering quickly, too quickly.

'Nothing's wrong, Tifa.'

Tifa stopped what she was doing at the sound of that, giving him an exasperated glance and flashing him a tired, not-quite-genuine smile. Yet another reason to hate Cloud; for taking away the dazzling and honest smile that she had once worn so openly and shared with everyone.

'You don't usually sigh and drink hard liquor at the bar, Barret,' she pointed out.

'I..you..it's nothing, really,' he finished lamely, struggling to keep his rising anger in check. Thinking about Cloud never failed to put him in a bad mood.

'You can tell me, Barret. I'll be here all night-' she probed stubbornly.

'_Damn it_, girl, just let this slide, will you?' he exploded, before he could stop himself.

A long and uncomfortable silence stretched awkwardly before them, and Tifa busied herself with polishing a plate lying nearby while Barret stared down regretfully at his drink.

'..I'm sorry, Tifa, I shouldn't have shouted at you like that..'

'It's fine. You can talk to me, Barret. Families are supposed to share their burdens, right?'

And, before he thought about it, the words came tumbling out of his mouth in a barely audible whisper.

'..I saw him today.'

Tifa froze, her lips quivering as she asked weakly.

'..W-who?'

Because she had to make sure; be absolutely positive that it was _him_ they were talking about, the person who had disappeared from her life for three long years. Even though there could possibly only be one person whom they were referring to.

Because her fragile heart had already been broken once before and she knew it couldn't possibly take another beating.

'.._Him_, Tifa. _Cloud_,' he replied reluctantly, watching her closely for a response.

A sharp intake of breath was followed by an accompanying crash as the plate Tifa was holding dropped to the floor and shattered into a million, tiny pieces.

'..W-where?'

'Listen to me, Tifa. Cloud's not the sa-'

'_Tell _me, Barret. _Where?_' she interrupted, voice shaky.

'..Sector Five..' he offered, even though he should know better. He never was able to resist her.

And she was out the bar before he could stop her, the doors swinging noisily on ungreased hinges as she disappeared into the endless night.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Tifa makes her first appearance! I must say this is one of my favourite chapters so far (though I haven't had very many). Just reiterating my promise one or two chapters ago about the story picking up and hopefully this will net me more reviews because this is where things (in my own humble opinion) really gets interesting.

On another note, I'm extremely happy another person finally decided to review me. Kudos to you, **AcidCherry**. And as always, cheers to **Irish-Brigid** for being my (only) regular reviewer so far and constantly offering constructive advice/criticism.

**Irish-Brigid**; You're right, of course, about Cloud constructing a false personality for himself. However, what I feel is that, even with Zack being a major (and possibly, only?) influence on this 'new' personality for Cloud, Cloud's personality differs from Zack's in some crucial ways that makes it his own (if you understand what I'm getting here). My main argument is that even though Zack was confident in his own abilities, he was never (at least in Crisis Core, or Before Crisis) confident to the point of arrogance (which Cloud could be, sometimes) and Zack was most certainly never an ass to the people around him (which Cloud definitely was, most of the time).

The only reason I call Cloud a self-pitying idiot is because this aspect of him has been _majorly_ overplayed by a _lot_ of fics, and it's not something that I wish to focus on here because it's been done to death already. I can see that even in AC Cloud always had the underlying determination to do the right thing; it was just that the stigma and past events had led to him having doubts about himself. What I want to do here is (maybe, and to the best of my writing abilities) portray him as a more three-dimensional character instead of having just one side of him that I emphasise on.


	7. Six

**Broken.  
>Six.<strong>

Tifa's long dark hair streamed out behind her as she clattered down the deserted streets in her work boots, cobbles slick with morning dew. Eyes wide, head turning wildly as she searched for a familiar silhouette, her surroundings flashing past in various shades of gray. Her world had long since lost colour; and the only ones she could still see were the vivid tones of those in her nightly dreams, of impossibly yellow hair woven from sunlight and too-blue eyes that reminded her of the bright azure found in the clearest oceans. And, of course, the terrifyingly familiar sight of fresh scarlet seeping hauntingly into the cheap fabric of Shinra uniforms as a thin, dark haze passed over brilliant sapphire for the last time.

Yellow and blue and red.

She paused for a moment then, one hand braced against a nearby lamppost for support, the other pressed into the sockets of her eyes as the tears threatened to spill from them. There had been no crying then, not even when she had found out that he was..gone, but the last embers of hope Barret had brought her had rekindled the fire that now burned fiercely in her chest.

_The ancient laptop whirred noisily to life as she seated herself in front of the wooden desk, hands suddenly sweating from trepidation. Artificial light from the display seared painfully into her retinas, her eyes otherwise adjusted to the darkened room, and she had to force herself to be completely still, despite her impatience, as the machine completed the long and arduous process of booting up._

_Pulling up the browser, she accessed the main Shinra site and clicked on the appropriate links until she arrived at the page she wanted. It read 'SHINRA ELECTRIC POWER COMPANY, MILITARY PERSONNEL DATABASE' in large, block letters that looked important and made her dizzy and suddenly, for all her eagerness earlier, she was unsure. Her pointer hovered uncertainly over the data field where she was supposed to key in the name, _his _name, and the cursor blinked maddeningly on-screen, as if taunting her cowardice._

_It had taken her weeks of working up her courage to get to this point._

_Did she want to know?_

_Could she handle knowing?_

_Was she better off not knowing?_

Yes_, she had to know, she decided. There had been no word for the past half-year, not from him, not from anywhere else. Every morning she went through the daily newspapers, heart hammering insistently in the confines of her ribcage as she scoured the lists of the previous day's casualties. And, even though it was irrational of her because she wasn't related to him in any way and they couldn't possibly send anyone to _her_, she had begun to dread answering the door._

_She'd heard the stories._

_They all had._

_They were at war, after all._

_Having made up her mind, her fingers tapped out the letters slowly on the worn keyboard, his name feeling strange and distant from her all of a sudden._

'_Strife, Cloud,' she'd said aloud to herself, and it bounced off the cold, hard planes of the walls and made her feel slightly better._

_Her index finger, long and elegant, hung poised above the enter key, and she watched with morbid fascination as it descended slowly, as though controlled by another person with invisible strings._

_A brief, tantalising moment as the page loaded, then.._

_Despair._

_Darkness._

_She stared at the display in disbelief, as though those damning words would shift and rearrange themselves before her very eyes._

_There, on her screen, it read;_

'_Killed in action.'_

She shook her head firmly, sending a ripple along the smooth lines of her dark tresses. Barret wouldn't lie to her. Not about something like this. Hope had opened her eyes again, and now, everywhere she looked, she saw;

Yellow and blue.

Feet pounding the cracked pavement, she continued to search the empty streets for him.

Yellow and blue.

But hope can be a cruel mistress. Even as the first, feeble rays of sunlight lanced through the thin veil of fog that seemed to perpetually blanket Midgar, she didn't find him. She collapsed exhaustedly against the side of a brick wall, holding her side. The disappointment felt as real as if someone had taken a knife and stabbed her in the gut, before giving it several hard twists for good measure.

Even so, she wouldn't give up. _Couldn't_ give up. All she could think of was seeing his face again, for the first time in over three years.

Of yellow and blue.

And he would hold her. Or she would hold him, tightly, so tightly that fate couldn't possibly tear him away from her grasp again.

She watched as sunlight struck the gleaming glass and steel façade of the Shinra tower, rising majestically above the rest of Midgar in the centre of the city.

It shone brilliantly.

Just like the hope she carried in her heart.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** A somewhat shorter chapter. It's personal preference I guess but I like to keep each chapter shorter so I can manage the flow better and also (hopefully) build suspense in between updates. Plus it might just be me but I guess it's somewhat easier to read (pacing-wise) when each chapter is about the same length? Anyway, just a few notes here; I'm not sure if this constitutes a spoiler or what but there will be a _lot_ of flashbacks in the coming chapters. For clarity's sake memories will usually be denoted by italics. Also, I hope I haven't gone overboard with the rampant over-usage of colour imagery here, but from what little I learned in my Lit class back in high school repetition seemed to work well enough. But then again, the stuff we studied in class were called classics for a reason, so..

Constructive criticism will be most welcome here since I'm quite ambivalent about this chapter. Can't decide whether I like the end product or not. Hm.


	8. Seven

**Broken.  
>Seven.<strong>

He pulled the bathroom door shut behind him and locked it securely, hearing the latch click into place with a finality that echoed loudly around the cold, white tiles. It had always seemed foolish to him, the need to hide in his own home, but he felt..

Ashamed.

Ashamed of his _condition_, as they liked to say in their pristine lab coats and bitingly impersonal words.

Peeling his wool-knit shirt off, he unraveled the thin gauze around his arm and tossed it in the nearby bin before examining the familiar, festering wound in the mirror. The rotting flesh around the old wound had, by now, discoloured into a mass of angry, purple-black bruises that threatened to ooze dark, evil fluid. He touched the affected area lightly, and his hand came away with the sticky, sable discharge that stuck to his fingertips like glue.

Geostigma.

The army doctors had said that it was the result of his immune system overcompensating in its attempt to repel alien substances; a natural reaction. In his opinion, there was nothing natural about it. The wound stubbornly refused to close, despite the accelerated healing that all mako-enhanced humans enjoyed. He was also subject to a constant, dull ache in the affected area, and on occasion it sharpened to a degree sufficient to bring him to his knees. There was also no cure, which didn't surprise him in the least; he was probably the only person in the world afflicted with this wasting malaise.

Stepping in front of the medicine cabinet, he pulled it open and eyed its contents with uncontained disgust. Rows upon rows of syringes sat neatly inside, filled with a sickly, green liquid that made his stomach churn.

He hated the colour by now; it was an unwelcome reminder of the things that had ruined his life. His world had been filled with too much green for the past four years. The emerald of Wutai's jungle, death and danger lurking behind every bush, every tree. Sephiroth's cold, hard eyes, brimming with unbridled hate and anger. And, for the longest month he had ever endured, all he had been able to see was the dull, suffocating green of mako pressing in on him, tinting the view of the outside world while he drowned behind the reinforced glass of his pod.

That was where the addiction had started. When he had found out what _they_ had done to him, he had stubbornly refused to give in to his body's demands for more. He quickly found out that doing so was near impossible; his lean form had been wracked by painful seizures and cramps, and his mind beset with frightful visions that were disturbingly real. That was why nobody had ever escaped from the all-powerful grasp of mako; people's dependence on the substance was mental as much as physical.

And he despised himself in the knowledge that his own need was greater than most. He had no problems enduring bodily pain, but he dreaded the hallucinations withdrawal would bring.

A coward.

That's what he was.

He had never been able to understand why some people _willingly_ got themselves hooked. Someone had explained it to him once, a regular infantryman who took it regularly. It was something to do with the fact that mako allowed you to relive past memories, to see and talk and laugh with loved ones, even if it all occurred in your head. People yearned for a second chance to communicate unsaid things to those who had already passed on, the conscript had told him. He supposed that was the reason why he was incapable of seeing why some did it for recreation; there were hardly any memories of his and only guilt when it came to the most important people in his life.

Picking out a syringe, he slammed the cabinet shut with a resigned sigh before stabbing the needle roughly into a vein. The blindingly white linoleum floor of his bathroom beckoned as he settled on the floor, back against the shower, and waited for the nightmares to start.

* * *

><p>There he was, or at least, the memory-version of him, standing a little apart from the rest of his unit, his helmet hiding his bright hair, eyes cast on the ground. He didn't want to see how everyone else had mothers or girlfriends to see them off and he didn't.<p>

There she was, looking around the platform frantically as she pushed past the throbbing mass of people that thronged before the train, belching pungent smoke into the air. He remembered her, all perfect and pretty, her dark hair tossing around carelessly in the wind as her nervous eyes scanned the crowd worriedly.

It was Tifa he saw in his dreams this time.

Her warm eyes lit up as she spotted him at the edge of the crowd, shuffling his feet restlessly. He hadn't been easy to find amongst the crowd, but she had recognised him with the distinct way stray tufts of blond hair stuck out the back of his helmet. She clutched her hands tightly to her chest as she weaved her way through couples and families before tapping him lightly on the shoulder.

Jumping slightly at the contact, he looked up briefly to see who it was before turning his eyes to the ground again almost immediately.

He hadn't wanted her to come.

He hadn't wanted to see her because it made leaving..

Difficult.

Maybe it was the way the ruby in her eyes seemed to catch the light in different ways. Or perhaps it was the way her pleasant scent seemed to roll off her exciting curves in maddening waves. But most of all, he thought to himself, it was the way his entire body seemed to tingle whenever she smiled at him, her full lips soft and inviting.

The sight of her always managed to set his heart racing.

At the present moment, though, the girl standing before him looked decidedly unhappy about something.

'You didn't tell me you were being posted to Wutai..' she'd told him, the corners of her mouth turned slightly downwards, as if reprimanding him.

He bowed his head even further and tried to focus on the steel toes of his boots, mumbling something incoherent in response. They were dirty and he would need to shine them before the sergeant yelled at him. He was safe if he looked at just at his feet and not at her.

His words failed to reach her above the din and muffled as they were behind his helmet.

'Why didn't you tell me you were leaving?' she asked softly, a vaguely hurt look appearing on her perfectly arranged face.

'I-'

He'd been interrupted then, by the sound of his sergeant yelling for everyone to 'get on the damn train', and after in surprise as she collided with him. Wrapping her arms forcefully around him, she clutched desperately at the blue fabric of his uniform and burrowed her nose into his shoulder.

It felt good. Too good, the way she fit into him pressed together like this, and it made leaving that much harder.

'Promise me something, Cloud,' she said in a small voice from the base of his neck, her warm breath tickling his throat and sending the sensation spreading through the rest of his body.

He'd looked down at her, noticing the way the wind caught raven strands of silk off the top of her head.

'Promise that you'll write me once in a while, and that..you'll come back. To m..Midgar,' she whispered, voice dangerously brittle.

He noticed then how fragile she looked, huddled into him like that, and his heart broke.

'Promise me! Please promise me. Please..please, please, please,' she begged.

He'd only just nodded numbly when she all but ripped his helmet off and pulled his pale face down to hers fiercely with an insistent tug. Electric eyes widened in shock as she pressed her lips tightly against his. Full of yearning and raw emotions and unsaid things.

All he'd managed to do was stand there dumbly before a moving, blue tide of people tore him away from her and carried him onto the train.

'Come back! You've got to come back, you hear?' he heard her cry before the door slid shut with a hiss and all he was staring at was gray steel and not wine red.

* * *

><p>He awoke then with a start, the back of his head bumping uncomfortably against the clear glass of the shower, and realized something.<p>

Back then, he hadn't seen the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Bet I've been surprising everyone by updating so often of a filler-ish chapter. Hope you guys didn't mind but it was necessary to clear up some plot elements I guess. Left some things unexplained on purpose so there's still some mystery involved. In case you guys haven't figured out, I love suspense. Heh heh.

Like what it sounds like above, mako here is supposed to be a drug of some kind, in addition to what Shinra use to produce SOLDIERS.

Anyway, some tiny bit of fluff (if you squint really hard) at the end. I promise there won't be much more because I absolutely suck at writing these since this is supposed to be a darker sort of story. Hm.

Once again, thanks to **findthetiger123** and **Irish-Brigid** for reviewing!


	9. Eight

**Broken.  
>Eight.<strong>

She stood in the centre of the massive lobby, watching as a dark river of smartly cut suits streamed in through the large revolving doors, meandering its way across the massive atrium before being swallowed by the numerous elevators that served the upper floors. Most of the employees avoided looking at her; those that did regarded her with barely-contained disdain that they seemed to reserve for anyone not one of 'them'. It didn't help that the building, as to be expected, seemed to be designed with the sole intention to shock and awe. Banners with gigantic Shinra logos emblazoned across them hung from glossy marble pillars polished enough that you could see your own reflection on them, while the liberal use of granite hinted at the size and grandeur of the company.

Her breath hitched slightly as she caught sight of the massive fountain featured prominently in the centre of the concourse. She still remembered the first time she'd been here; a foggy memory in the distant past.

The way he had been sitting on the edge of the black stone, looking more than slightly puzzled as his soft blue eyes scanned the entrance.

The way bewilderment turned to pleasant surprise as she pushed a paper bag into his large hands before sitting next to him and turning away in embarrassment.

'You mentioned you didn't like the canteen food so..lunch,' she finished lamely, trying to hide the faint blush spreading across her cheeks.

'..Thank you,' he replied shyly.

They didn't speak again for the rest of the meal, or even look at each other, for that matter, except for the quick glances that she sneaked at him occasionally, eyes hidden carefully behind her bangs.

There wasn't any need to.

She'd noticed how he lingered long after he had finished the meal she had painstakingly prepared, just sitting there with her, shoulders touching comfortably.

She'd noticed how, when lunch hour was over, he returned to his post with considerable reluctance in his eyes.

It made her heart flutter.

Somehow, it had become routine for them to have lunch together, stealing time from his painfully short break. She made her way to Shinra headquarters, every day, rain or shine, to find him waiting obediently and expectantly at _their _spot.

Until the steamy jungles of distant Wutai had reached out and taken him away forever.

It hadn't been easy. He _had_ promised to write, and he did. She found herself checking the mail more often than necessary, sometimes even more than once a day, and coming away disappointed when there was no sign of the brown envelopes he always used.

He had always been a reliable man, just something else to add to the long list of things she loved about him.

Love.

A word that she could only use in her mind. She had never told him explicitly how she felt about him, not even during the moment of impulse (_madness?_) she'd had at the train station when sending him off.

For all his virtues, he could also be maddeningly dense.

She'd thought of telling him, more than once, in the letters she always wrote back. And sometimes, she did, her pen hovering uncertainly over the ruled lines, to finally be crossed out by the time she folded the paper into a neat little square.

Heavens knew how much crushed paper had ended up in her bin those six months.

She would tell him, when his tour of duty was over and he returned, and in a perfect world he would return her feelings and they would..

But then the letters stopped coming, and all her plans for a future with him had evaporated with three words on a white screen. Three years on, and she had only just started picking up the pieces of her shattered life. Stubbornly, she had refused to date anyone else, though it wasn't as though she had a shortage of perfectly eligible suitors. In her mind's eye, no one could ever come close to comparing with him; painfully shy, but honest, self-sacrificing, and _sincere._

She had just about resigned herself to a life of solitude when Barret's words had caught her like a bolt out of the blue. There was no question about it. Barret would never lie or make a mistake about something like this, even if he had made it clear countless times that he thought she could do better (_'For crying out loud, Tifa, he's just an infantry grunt!'_).

No, not when he knew it was about someone that she held so close to her heart.

The information she found online was wrong.

It had to be.

There was a mistake somewhere.

Maybe a clerk had filled out the wrong paperwork. Maybe he had simply been captured by the enemy, and the bureaucracy had been hasty in jumping to conclusions.

But no matter what, as she stood in front of the directory, running her slender fingers along the words etched into the black stone, Tifa promised herself that she would find answers today.

They were on the fifty-first floor, housing the administrative divisions of the Public Safety Maintenance Department.

Or, as the world knew it, the Shinra army.

* * *

><p>Stepping cautiously out of the packed elevator, she followed all the appropriate signs through a veritable maze of corridors to find herself standing before a foreboding door. Where the excesses of the foyer had practically screamed money, this floor was distinctly utilitarian in design, all menacing steel walls and harsh fluorescent lights that hurt her eyes.<p>

It was all a bit intimidating.

Taking a deep breath to calm her fraying nerves, the frosted glass slid aside with a barely audible hiss as she palmed the door open and stepped in.

She found herself in a small reception, empty save for a bored-looking secretary wearing entirely too much make-up and seemingly more interested in painting her nails than answering the phone ringing shrilly away. Another door, situated behind the counter, proclaimed importantly that she was in the office of the Director of Security Operations in bold, block print.

Seeing as the receptionist was doing her level best to ignore her, Tifa stepped up to the front desk hesitantly, suddenly unsure.

'..Uh..excuse me-'

'Have you got an appointment?' she asked without looking up, clearly annoyed to be interrupted in the middle of doing her nails.

'..No-'

'Then you can't see him.'

'Please-'

'The Director's a very busy man. No one sees him without an appointment. Make one and come back,' the receptionist snapped, finally looking up at Tifa disapprovingly under a raised brow that was very badly drawn and obviously bleached.

Tifa wasn't sure if she would have the courage to come back again.

'I just need to find out what happened to a..a friend of mine,' she said, more firmly this time, before adding as an afterthought. 'Please.'

They stared at each other across the wooden countertop for a moment, unblinking, and she must have seen Tifa's resolve because when she moved again it was with a defeated sigh and to move her keyboard closer.

'Boyfriend, huh?'

Tifa could feel her cheeks heating up in spite of herself.

'N-no. Nothing like that. He's just a friend,' she managed to stammer, all traces of her former bravado gone in her embarrassment.

While all her heart wanted to do was to scream _yes_.

The other woman shot her a knowing look, her scarlet nails tapping impatiently on the keys.

'Well? So what's his name. I don't have all day, you know.'

'..Cloud. Cloud Strife.'

'And how do you spell that?'

* * *

><p>Sometime later, Tifa found herself down the harshly-lit corridor leading back to the lift landing, one hand braced against a nearby wall for support. It was all she could do to keep herself from stumbling.<p>

Nothing.

The search on the database hadn't found anything.

It was as if the person known as Cloud Strife had never walked upon this earth, never existed.

But she knew he had, and if Barret's words were anything to go by, he still did.

How many times had she looked into those clear, blue eyes, as deep as the ocean?

How many times had she looked on those thin, pale lips, wishing that she could..

'Excuse me, Miss Lockhart?'

She looked up to see a petite redhead by the elevators, pretty hair falling in never-ending ringlets to the shoulders of her elegant black suit.

'Please follow me. The boss would like to see you,' she said politely.

Somehow, her tone of voice brooked no argument.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** It's been a long time, and just to let you guys know, I haven't abandoned this yet. It's just been getting a bit..difficult to write with all the things that's been happening in my life so far and the obligatory lack of inspiration. I realise I tend to update in spurts with long periods of inactivity in between. That's because when I get stuck on something I leave it alone for a while (okay, maybe not a while) and don't start on it again until something pops into my head, however long that may take.

Usual plea for reviews (just to reassure myself that people are actually reading this and I'm not wasting my efforts).

And possibly something to look out for; I just started on a somewhat dark one-shot. It's not even halfway done but it's something I've been playing around with for the past week or so and I'm really looking forward to posting it up once it's done.

**Irish-Brigid**; And yet, this is what makes Cloud and Tifa (and possibly Vincent) so nice to write as characters. Assuming, of course, that you're writing them _in_-character and not out, which I don't do (hopefully)


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